The Hazards of Tradition
by Nimbus Llewelyn
Summary: A multi chapter story hopefully , featuring...pretty much everyone actually. The only potential pairings are Vimes/Sybil, Carrot/Angua. Please read & review.
1. Chapter 1

**The Hazards of Tradition **

**A tale of Ankh-Morpork**

When a person does something regularly it becomes habit. Habit sometimes grows, sometimes wilts and is forgotten, like a weed. The strong habits that are lucky become traditions, commemorated by feasts and celebrations and are generally merely a good excuse for an annual piss up. Both traditions and habit breed routine, and routine breeds..._order_. There happens to be a certain type of being that loves order. On Roundworld, this being manifests itself as nothing more malign and dangerous than a common or garden Health and Safety inspector, or 'One of those irritating nosy sods who works for OF-whatsit'. Annoying and pointless, yes, but not actually harmful, except possibly to the blood pressure of those who encounter them. However on the Discworld, the presence of such beings is far more powerful, and indescribably more dangerous...

So dear reader, read on.

They levitated if that was the right word to describe their positioning in mid air beside the mended drum. The screams, battle cries and swear words issuing from the Drum suggested that its clientele were in the freestyle stage of the nightly bar room brawl. The figures turned to watch a battleaxe fly through the door and hit the far wall, its dwarfish owner still very much attached to it. The figures turned to each other.

One said, this is the epitome of what the universe has become. Chaos.

One said, we must end it.

One said, How?

One said, I think we should find a human agent.

One said, no, remember what happened the last time?

The Auditors (for it was they) gathered in silent recollection. Then...

One said, did you say I?

One said, of course I di-bugger!

It vanished in a puff of blue flame.

The robes remained silent for a long while, as the fetid miasma that even the extremely optimistic person without a sense of smell **(1)** would have serious misgivings about calling mist or fog, though would not hesitate to call it lethal. It had even been harvested on particularly thick nights as a cheap alternative to masonry. **(3)** The robes watched as the dwarf and the battleaxe which dwarfed him further still, got up and charged back into the fray bellowing _""_.**(4) **Finally the one of the robes spoke.

It said, humans usually find inventive ways of destroying themselves. Why don't we wait until one develops a suitable method?

The other robes, without moving or doing anything in particular to show their thoughts on the matter, agreed. They faded into the background. The moon rose slowly, giving everything a monochrome tone. Otto Chriek looked out of his window and thought he had reached heaven. This was disabused rather sharply when The Smell joined him in viewing the city of Ankh-Morpork in perfect monochrome.

"Oh bugger off vill you." He snapped at The Smell which moved off, offended. Otto sighed and reached for a handkerchief with which to clean up the wax which was running out of his ears.

Several weeks later, Commander Vimes proceeded through Short Street with Captain Carrot on what was his first night time patrol for weeks, and he was savouring it. The smells, sights and sounds took him down memory lane, back to the times when he could actually be a copper, not deal with endless, and worryingly sentient piles of paperwork, which were still growing despite Sergeant Pessimal's best efforts. He jolted out of his trip down memory to avoid proceeding into Sweetheart lane. He sighed inwardly. When he had been wearing his old worn boots with paper thin soles he could follow a beat in his sleep. Mind you, at that time he had not had to worry about domestic issues such as young Sam beating Lord Rust's son into a pulp after the boy had pulled Anna von Lipwig's hair and punched her at the playgroup. He smiled as he reminisced about the sight Adora Belle Lipwig nee Dearhart advance on Lord Rust in full battle mode wearing her pointiest heels and with Sybil in full auxiliary support, with Moist Von Lipwig hovering helpless in the background, occasionally sending terrified glances to Vimes who was leaning against an iron bollard, and for once Vimes felt sorry for the man. Apparently after Rust had said that he didn't see what was wrong about it, he had his...erm, manhood severely damaged by said heels, then nailed to the nearest wall upside down by his ears. It turned out that Adora Belle had used her high heels to perform this extraordinary feat of social vigilantism.

His happy memory was interrupted by Captain Carrot.

"Sir?"

"Yes Carrot?" Vimes guessed what it was with a sinking feeling in the privacy of his own head. This was going to be very difficult indeed. He started a mental countdown: T-10, T-9, T-8, T-7...

"How did you umm...you know...?"

...T-6, T-5, T-4...

"How did I what, Carrot?

...T-3, T-2, T-1...

"Ummm" Carrot was blushing furiously by this point "errrrrrrrmm, howdidyouproposeto LadySybilsir?

Ankh-Morpork, we have lift off. **(4)**

**(1)not that this mattered. The miasma of Ankh-Morpork formed a coat of the Gods only knew (2) what on any unfortunate pedestrian who encountered it.**

**(2) And demons, and Death and HEX. Possibly.**

**(3) But a temporary one. Bloody Stupid Johnson once constructed what was later known as the Dissolving Tower of Brindisi. It burnt off in the midday sun, killing the all the unpopular civic dignitaries and royalty who were inspecting it. Johnson was immediately accorded national hero status and a statue of him resides in the main piazza of Brindisi itself. It was not long after this episode that Sybil Vimes nee Ramkin's grandfather shot him in leg with a crossbow, reportedly saying as he took aim, "I am not having that bloody walking disaster come anywhere near my house with one of his damned inventions". Eloquence was, unsurprisingly, not one of the late Lord Ramkin's chief talents.**

**(4) The campaign for equal heights later used this as an example of substandard treatment of dwarfs throughout the city.**

**(5) This was the preferred form of countdown was used by Leonard of Quirm before the Kite took off, but it was scrapped early on.**


	2. Chapter 2: The Auditors first move

The Auditors reconvened in the eldritch part of the space time continuum that is occupied by the entity that is called Azrael.

One said, Lord you must prevent Him from interfering.

One said, you cannot let him favour humanity any longer.

One said, you cannot let him break the _rules_ again.

Azrael turned his enormous gaze to the Auditors.

One said, he interferes with the cosmic order of things. You should know as well as anyone that such meddling cannot be tolerated.

Azrael, Death of Deaths, the Ultimate Reality of Ultimate Realities, the 7+1th of the Old High Ones nodded sadly. It was a real pity, but necessary, because while the antics of the Death of the Discworld were interesting, Azrael knew he had broken the _rules_ far too many times to be tolerated, and what was the multiverse without the _rules_? No, the Discworld Death had over stepped the line one time too many and would have to be dealt with post haste. Life on the Discworld had to fend for itself this time, though Azrael found himself hoping deep down that it succeeded, and he supposed that was because it had proved it could take care of itself many times before. He looked out at the Discworld. The upcoming skirmish would make his existence very interesting indeed, he mused in thoughts that took the life age of a star to be completed and contemplated. He would watch absolutely anything to alleviate the boredom and loneliness of the ages that he perennially experienced. Even Eastender's (1).

Vimes sighed inwardly and decided to take the bull by the horns, which was difficult in the face of Carrots curious and guileless stare.

"Well, Carrot, I got down on one knee, got out the ring and asked her, will- _will you please stop taking notes Carrot! Especially not next to the notes you made on that murder last week, it could lead to a misunderstanding. Good. _- will you marry me. And that was that, but be careful when asking Angua, as she may not want to, she's nearly left the city before when she was in a state about that sort of thing according to Cheery, and she might do it again if you give her enough of a shock."

Carrot looked doubtful but nodded assent. Vimes inwardly patted himself on the back. That was the really difficult hurdle negotiated, now he was on the home straight and listening to the cheers and adulation of the crowd. Then to change metaphors, he ran straight into the brick wall that was Carrots questioning and ever curious mind.

"Sir, why might Angua run off when I propose to her?"

"I'm really not sure Carrot, but I think she doesn't believe that a human/werewolf marriage would work out, particularly when it comes to the subject of...children."

Carrots face shone with understanding. "Oh, that's alright sir, I was going to say, Angua's pregnant, we just found out."

Vimes promptly swallowed his cigar. As Carrot inexpertly performed the Heimlich manoeuvre on him, Vimes reflected on the effect that a pregnant werewolf who was worried about her offspring and her boyfriend's intent to propose on the city was one he didn't need. Also, the next thought that arrived, was _how_ had Angua managed to...no it didn't bear thinking about.

When they got back to the yard, Vimes having been rescued from death by swallowed cigar by Carrot's inexpert and enthusiastic application of the Heimlich manoeuvre and he was now suffering a broken rib as a result, the duty officer Corporal Stronginthearm told him that his personal disorganiser, which was now Sergeant Pessimal's assistant, had said he had an appointment with Vetinari, and the message off the clacks from the palace was 'no great rush'. After putting on some strange balm Igor had given him, Vimes stalked up to the palace in a bad mood.

Lord Havelock Vetinari smiled as heard the noises emanating from below, because while he rarely smiled much, the sounds of Vimes on the rampage never ceased to amuse him. It was something about sheer anger of the man that made it amusing to wind him up just a little bit, but not too much. It was one of the Patrician's very few guilty pleasures, the others being crosswords and small dogs, though he was puzzled as to why Vimes was in the Palace. He didn't have an appointment which was the only thing that Vimes entered the Palace for.

Vimes stormed into the oblong office in a haze of anger and cigar smoke, halted, and aimed his gaze approximately a foot above Vetinari's head in the approved fashion, though today his gaze was stripping paint from the wall.

Vetinari looked up, for only the second time that Vimes had been around to see, he was surprised and he frowned. "Yes, Sir Samuel?"

It was Vimes' turn to look surprised. "You wanted to see me, sir?" he ventured hesitantly.

"To the best of my knowledge Sir Samuel, you do not have an appointment to see me now."

Vimes was by now struggling to control his mounting confusion which was mixed in with a healthy dollop of anger and a soupçon of impatience. After this had simmered nicely for a minute and Vimes' gaze had wandered across to the window, the sight that greeted him transformed his mind into a sea of pure, unadulterated rage. With an inarticulate roar, he charged out of the oblong office drawing his sword as he went. Vetinari turned to the window and the sight made even him sharply intake breath. The Ramkin mansion was on fire.

Vimes raced towards the Post office where the Lancre Flyer was being prepared for the next morning, or rather, where the men who were supposed to be preparing the Flyer were drinking tea and watching the fire. They were commenting on it in critical tones as Vimes raced into earshot. "...That fire last month at the Alchemists Guild last month was better."

Said one voice in the tones that denoted any being such as this as the all-knowing Man in the Pub, even on worlds where pubs had not yet evolved in the male collective consciousness.

Another voice chimed in with, "Yeah, but it was over too fast, no real staying power. Now this one here looks like it's going to be burning all night, plus its up on Scoone Avenue, so it's a Nob's house.

A third man turned round to look for his tea mug when he saw Vimes and said to the others, "'Ello who's this bloke running with the sword?" He raised his voice, "Oi, slow down mate, you'll do yourself a mischi- Oh hells bells it's Vimes, going like the clappers."

The first man had also turned round and said curiously, "Doesn't he live on Scoone Avenue?"

All three men experienced the same thought at the same time and looked from Vimes, to the house and back to Vimes, their mouths opening in fascinated horror. Vimes reached them and bellowed, "Get me to that fire fast or you'll regret it!"

That tone of rage coupled with the expression on Vimes' face meant the coach was racing towards Scoone Avenue in under a minute, driven by a terrified coach man.

**(1) For those who don't know it is a rather boring soap that is shown in Britain. If you do not live in Britain be thankful that you don't have to experience it. **


	3. Chapter 3: The Disc's counterstroke

**A/N: I apologise if this chapter has more footnotes then actual story, but that's the way I roll.**

Death sat in the golden fields of his home sharpening his scythe and contemplating. His bright blue, for want of a better description, eyes, though pin pricks would describe them better, roved over the otherwise black and white landscape, which would have made Otto Chriek weep for happiness and when the returned to looking straight ahead, the view was filled with an Auditor. The average human would have leapt backwards at this point, but Death wasn't average, or when you got down to the matter, human either.

Instead he asked in tones, which, while they suggested dark crypts and full graveyards, also suggested raised eyebrows, **(1) **mild scorn and contempt **(2)**; IS THAT THE BEST YOU CAN DO?

It said, we can do much better.

It said, Life on the Discworld is to be destroyed, and you are to be tried with interfering with the cosmic order and breaking the _rules_.

Death straightened up in the dramatic manner that only a seven foot skeleton can pull off without looking like a complete tit, an icy fury emanating off his frame, his eyes glowed a deep and ominous crimson which would have had most Morporkian citizens running away screaming. However the Auditor held its ground.

_HOW. DARE. YOU?_ Hissed Death. I WILL N-

The auditor interrupted him and it said, this we do with the authority of Azrael. You may reside here while we complete what should have been done so many years ago. This dimension will be sealed against your or your servants leaving until our mission is completed, and food will be provided for your servant and your horse. This shall be done.

It disappeared. Death stood in the full terrible raiment of his rage for a moment, then calmed himself and strode angrily towards the House. This time, _he_ could do nothing. The Discworld would have to defend itself. Until he found a way of helping, that is.

The greatest, most powerful and most successful of the monks of time was in a room he previously hadn't discovered before holding broom, which was odd for two reasons; firstly outsiders image of the men in saffron was that they contemplated the universe and the infinite while kicking peoples arses** (3)**, and secondly because the monk in question thought he had dusted every room. He shrugged. Everywhere got dusty eventually, he thought **(4) **and walked in. There was a strange portal, of the foreboding variety. He breathed in sharply. Thsi was the famed Schism **(6) **in time. It looked out upon a blurry dark vista, brightened in places by a yellow patch. The Sweeper stood and thought. He _should_ report this to the Abbot but he was going through a bad stage in his teething, and so, in the best Discworld tradition, he stepped through.

**(1) Except he doesn't actually have eyebrows. Or most other things for that matter.**

**(2) Both of which are hard to convey when you are an animate skeleton with a black robe and scythe who is famous for lacking emotions. The effect is similar to that of seeing the Queen doing the conga or Prince Phillip proving himself to be a sensitive soul tempered with a subtlety that rivals that of Machiavelli himself, both very strange and extremely difficult to be believed by a rational being, On the other hand, people are people everywhere, and people will believe anything. Also, the very last thing the Discworld's inhabitants could be called is sensible. Pragmatic and ruthless, definitely, especially when money and politics enter into the considerations, but sensible in the everyday use of the word? Never. **

**(3) Or rather, prodding buttock. In the case of the legendary Lobsang Llama who managed to create a form of martial arts by infuriating the opponent into an impotent and apocrapylyptic rage, because he was doing **_**absolutely nothing**_** with a faint mocking smile on his face and an air of inner peace. This quandary (because they remembered rule number one, which has been hotwired into the brains of all sentient species on the Discworld) caused the opponent to explode or in extreme cases, disappear in a puff of logic, which was carefully collected, bottled and stored, then sold as the extremely rare commodity it was, as raw logic is hard to come by on the Discworld. Even recycled logic is worth 10,000 dollars per thought. It is rumoured that Lord Vetinari has his own private stock, though others assert he produces it naturally. He takes care they don't find out as the curiosity this engenders keeps people busy trying to work it out and makes them feel better.**

**(4) Except for used public toilets, debating rooms, classrooms and anyway where the juvenile form of that great being, The Man in The Pub resides, the Opinionated So-and-So (5), quite possibly the combination of germs and hot air destroyed the dust.**

**(5) Scholars who study this phenomenon are looking into the possibility that this not a stage in the lifecycle of **_**Homo opinionatus,**_** but a subspecies, evolved in more 'exalted' theatres of speech, and have tentatively named it **_**Homo opinionatus minor**_** and speculate it may out evolve The Man In The Pub and replace it. On Roundworld a particularly malicious and stupid form is found in the United Kingdom. It is called Nick Griffin. Stay away from it, as stupidity may be infectious. Another possible form has been spotted in South Africa called Julius Malema. This is interesting as most forms of this creature died off 16 years before. It may merely be sorely misunderstood, though any politician claiming to live on handouts is either a) lying or b) not actually a politician.**

**(6) From the latatian root, **_**schismatus**_**, which happens to mean, to sulk after a pointless argument about something which means very little in the grand scheme of things.**


	4. Chapter 4: Oh no they didn't!

Vimes reached the fire and charged through the crowd, up into the grounds of his house, when he saw the figures imposed against the backdrop of the burning, two larger and one much smaller, his son he realised as the beast took over his mind. He roared, raised his sword and charged screaming a wordless battle cry, and as he put on a spurt for the final charge, the first of the larger figures turned, young Sam in one hand, and raised a knife. The other figure was Lady Sybil, who was exuding ice cold rage on an industrial scale.

Vimes looked closely at figure as the mists of his berserker rage were dissipated by his brain urgently putting on the brakes and getting out the mental equivalent of a leaf blower. It, or rather, he was tall and had an utterly emotionless face. It spoke, "You will disarm yourself and come with us or the child and the woman die." Vimes noted the flat emotionless tone, which said in so many ways, _I mean it_. He dropped his sword and as he did so, a calm voice said, "You will put the my godson down and leave, or I may have to kill you." Vimes twisted and saw Vetinari picking his way through the fire scarred lawn.

The humanoid creature turned and stared impassively at Vetinari, and said tonelessly, "We are not intimidated by your threats. You also will come with us." And thus an impasse was formed, a stalemate, a Mexican standoff, which was sharply broken by a dopplering cry of "GEEEEEEEEEEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMOOOOOOOOO! "**(1)** as out of the smoke a broomstick containing Mustrum Ridcully and Ponder stibbons **(2)** bore down on the creature and Ridcully dealt it a hearty thwack with his staff, on the basic principle that most creatures are severely inconvenienced by a forehand blow from 6 feet of oak staff with a knob on the end. **(3)** And indeed he was, the creature collapsing, and throwing young Sam clear, and forcing Vimes to execute a jumping catch that would have had him made an honorary Llamedosian on the spot if any had been watching, and for a moment he had a brief mental image of a line of men in red (or was it white?) shirts telling him to pass the ball out wide. He shook his head and it disappeared into the aether, **(4) **and he noticed he was holding his son who was smiling cheerfully, in the way small children do. He looked at the creature, who was unconscious and, _flickering_? The figure became a small grey robe, but before it could do anything, Ridcully, who had by this time landed, spoke a syllable of power and it disappeared in a flash of green flame. Ponder was regarding his thaumometer with disbelief. As Ponder began to shake the device in the multiverse wide belief that if you shake something hard enough it will work, Ridcully strode up to the stationary Vimes and murmured, "Sam, if that's what I what I thought it was, we are in big trouble." Vetinari broke in saying, "I think Commander, Archchancellor, that Professor Stibbons has something he would like to say."

Ponder, stunned at this unexpected attention, gulped and said, "These readings, sirs, I haven't seen anything like them, though I think they represent the presence of an anthropomorphic personification. I would like to take them back to the University to have Hex analyse them, and I think you may want to come?"

Ridcully clapped him on the shoulder, and said, "Good thinking lad, but maybe we should put out the fire first." And as Ponder blushed he said, "Also, we'll do it the old way too, if we can find a mouse, or is it an egg nowadays?"

After the predictable Golems had arrived and stamped out the fire, and a protesting lady Sybil and young Sam had been escorted to Pseudopolis yard, they all went to the University where the rite of Ashe-Kente was set up. However it didn't quite work in the expected fashion...

Vimes glared at the octagram which had just filled with smoke and a fruity female voice had said, "This line is engaged. Please try later." He turned to the wizards and Vetinari, all of whom looked slightly taken aback. "Do any of you know what the hell is going on?" he demanded. All the wizards just shrugged, except one who went "ook" and brought out a book, took it to Vimes and opened it at a certain page. The barely legible text read as; _'when thee rite of Ashe-Kente is engaged, thee little grey buggers art involved'_

Vimes passed it wordlessly to Vetinari, who merely raised his eyebrows and said, "I believe a trip to see the History monks is in order, in particular, the sweeper." As he said this, Vimes swallowed his cigar for the second time that day.

**(1) Some narrative convention is too hard to resist, as I found out when I was small and changed the gears on my dad's bike and sent us hurtling through a flowerbed, and my dad yelled Geronimo! He learnt an important lesson. Never let small curious children ride on the handlebars.**

**(2) Who had been dragooned into being a pilot as he was the youngest wizard and Ridcully needed to be able to use his hands, and also he was the only one whose weight wouldn't force the broomstick into flying at a maximum height of 5 feet and at a top speed of 4 miles per hour.**

**(3) A principle shared by his brother, though the his holiness favoured a heavy thurible, which also happened to be 6 feet of oak, and indeed it had a knob on the end, however it was made of tempered steel, to add greater, ahem, **_**weight**_**, to a theological dispute. You don't become High Priest of Blind Io or stay that way by being particularly nice. **

**(4) And indeed, rugby was the Llamedosian national sport, with two stories about its beginning the first of which involved a doctor with slippery hands, a new father with a neat line in offloading and sharing instincts, and the second involved a very small oval shaped Omnian missionary, 30 druids and a pair of two unusually shaped holy trees. It is quite possible that both are true. Vimes had just executed a very fine catch from a tricky up-and-under.**


	5. Chapter 5: Conference at The UU

All the many and strangely varied city notables ( even it seemed, Chrysoprase, who winked at Vimes when their gazes met. He hasn't forgotten the favour he did me in the KV incident, but I'll be damned if I let him use it to manipulate me, Vimes thought. **(1)**) were summoned and seated in the Universities great hall, where an omniscope had been set up so they could see Hex, but unfortunately it kept cutting either to a giant red fiery eye or to an ancient man in some sort of movable metal chair, surrounded by strange floating pepper pots, who were complaining in staccato voices of 'communications interference' and 'Crucible on maximum alert', if only for the look of the thing and because Vimes rather enjoyed the idea of depriving the assassins of their sleep.

Vimes glanced around and noticed the very unusual orc, Mr Nutt, who was just back from some time in Uberwald doing only the God's and possibly Vetinari and select others knew, and carrying, Vimes noticed an inordinately large battleaxe, rather fine baroque style Lancrastrian work according to Nobby who was a living lexicon on all extant objects for putting holes in people, that is to say, modern weaponry, and had been on patrol earlier that day and seen it, and the owner of the rather fine baroque style axe smiled politely at him and Trev Likely, who gave him a cheeky grin and a cheery wave, then got out that infernal tin can of his and began to kick it around, and just when Vimes was beginning to contemplate the tempting thought of arresting him on the grounds of contravening the Being Bloody Stupid act and detaining him on the additional grounds of Trying My Patience, he volleyed it very hard and hit the back of Lord Rust's head with pin point accuracy. This caused his lordship to stand up and bellow at the grinning young man, who promptly stopped grinning when Rust, having gone an extraordinarily interesting purple colour, drew his horse whip. While Vimes was savouring the sweet possibility of arresting Lord Rust for assault, he noticed that Mr Nutt had stepped up beside Lord Rust, whispered something in his ear and pointed to the former archchancellor **(2) **of Brazeneck (The university having been dissolved after the 70 foot high chicken incident, which caused mass destruction and terror and the biggest fried egg in the history of the multiverse.) who had recently been reinstated as Dean and was currently wearing a hat with the words, 'I fought the Watch and was dragged into a cold cell for the night' emblazoned on it, and was more importantly happily aiming his staff at Lord Rust and making Hut noises. The message appeared to be, hit one of our staff and enter a new life as a living Quirmian delicacy. As Rust backed down hurriedly and haughtily, Vimes shook his head in amusement and disbelief. _Wizards_. Trev Likely, smile restored, waved at Vimes in a friendly manner.

Vimes nodded coldly, concealing a grin at Rust's embarrassment, and let his gaze rove over the assorted guild leaders and miscellaneous others and- he sniffed the air and sighed- Foul Ole Ron's smell. He was wishing it hadn't turned up when he noticed it was occupying the seat between Lord Downey and Mr Boggis, who were both shifting in their seats in a manner that had all the effect of pointing out their highly acute discomfort. He grinned evilly as he watched Lord Downey trying vainly to staunch the as yet quite small and slow flow of wax from his ears with little success. Mr Boggis, who was rather more used to such smells, and was consequently faring somewhat better, had plugged his ears.

As Vimes turned back to the Omniscope, he saw Lord Vetinari intently gazing at the giant burning eye, which appeared to be losing an unofficial staring contest and was watering somehow, and thus giving off steam. Apparently the wizards having been unable to ask Death as to what the problem was, were having Hex analyse the results from the thaumometer, then transport Vimes, Vetinari, Carrot, Angua and Mr Nutt to the History Monks monastery at Oi Dong.

As Lord Downey finally vacated his seat in irritation and booted a lower ranked Assassin out of his chair and whispered something that made the Assassin blanch. Downey merely glared at the quite young Assassin, who whimpered and trudged over to what had formerly been Downey's seat, and the Smell, pleased at having a new companion, tried to make friends with him, by as far as Vimes could tell, floating around his head. It only stopped when the unfortunate Assassin collapsed, and Nobby and Igor both ran (or in Igor's case, half ran half lurched) over to what they both saw as a victim in need of assistance. Igor got to the Assassin first and waved Nobby away as he leaned over hopefully. When Igor managed to resuscitate the young Assassin, he opened his and saw Nobby, precipitating a horrified scream from the young man, because he thought he was dead and had been sent to the Nether hells, which was quite incorrect. Demons didn't wear watch uniform or smoke dog ends.

Vimes' perambulating gaze and proceeding thoughts were interrupted by Hex's voice saying.

+++ I DETECT...+++

+++ I DETECT...+++

At this point Ridcully interrupted by bellowed, "Will the damn machine get on with it already?" in Ponders ear. Ponder winced, and Hex said,

+++THIS DAMN MACHINE IS ATTEMPTING TO ACHIEVE DRAMATIC EFFECT +++

+++ HOWEVER... I DETECT..._MALIGNITY _+++ **(3)**

**(1)** **In truth, Chysoprase is not that stupid, because he knows that Vimes would go spare (4) and absolutely destroys him in one way or another, then Vetinari **_**wouldn't raise a finger to stop Vimes or even reprimand him**_**.**

**(2) Note the small a. If Ridcully had had his way it would have been somewhere around this size: ****a****. While wizards (or indeed wizzards) are very definitely celibate (none of that business with young women, or indeed young men, because this is the century of the Anchovy), there is always going to be an element of 'mines bigger than yours'.**

**(3) I think I should explain at this point that while most of the UU staff and a few others know what 'the little grey buggers are', they are a bit surprised by the appearance of one in human form, as only Death, Susan, Lu-Tze and Lobsang know they can take on human form.**

**(4) The idea of Vimes going spare is the one thing that terrifies Ankh-Morpork's criminal population even more than Sergeant Angua with PLT.**

_**Please Read and Review people, I live on your feedback.**_


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